


The Third Attempt

by raven_jem



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Explicit Sexual Content, Handcuffs, M/M, Oral Sex, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 16:56:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_jem/pseuds/raven_jem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Les Mis kink meme prompt: "Good old J/VJ BDSM only this time, Javert is In Charge." Includes one flaily dom and one ambivalent sub.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Third Attempt

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt and post can be found here: http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/9761.html?thread=854049#t854049  
> I've edited it a bit, mostly adding a few lines here and there.  
> Post-canon AU, established relationship.

Their first foray into physical intimacy did not end well. The closeness terrified Javert. Valjean’s eyes were too affectionate, his touch too gentle, the give-and-take of their movements too balanced. He was torn between guilt— _a convict, he was lying with a convict, a convict was murmuring endearments in his ear_ —and shame because, oh god, was this really the man he would have condemned to slavery? Some element of the exchange must have bothered Valjean as well, because they mutually ended it prematurely. It took several days before Javert could bring himself to meet Valjean’s eyes.

Their second attempt was no better; in fact, it may have been worse. Javert had recalled their time in Montreuil-sur-Mer, dwelling upon one event in particular. The way he had so shamefully begged for punishment was burned into his memory. He retraced these feelings, over and over, picking out disgrace and shame and severe disappointment in himself, and also finding, only a little to his surprise, an underlying heat. Perhaps… Their second attempt, they distanced themselves by sliding into these old roles. They could have healed some old wounds by confronting them, and yet… Indignity piled upon indignity, Javert had permitted himself to be stripped and bound and shoved to his knees, had held out as long as he could before Valjean discovered the tears. Valjean tried to be sympathetic, tried to be comforting, but undoing the bonds and fussing over the tears only provoked Javert into a cursing, spitting temper, at which he promptly withdrew.

Javert almost left on that night. Remembering those long hours of brooding in his room, thoughts running over memories and turning darker with each repetition, he honestly cannot say what finally compelled him to stay. Valjean’s night must have gone no better. Yet, somehow, he stayed, and found himself rewarded for his courage with the look on Valjean’s face the next morning, how content the other man was for his company, how grateful to not have lost him.

This was their third try, and Javert was going mad. He wanted Valjean, knew he was wanted in return; that much was obvious in the looks they shared across the table, in the stray caresses they exchanged throughout the day, in the way they lingered overlong by the fireside at night, neither willing to part company, but neither able to move from a shared fire to a shared bed. This time, they would try a variation on the second attempt, one they’ve been obliquely discussing for several days. When they finally moved to the stairs, to ascend to their respective bedchambers, Valjean took his hand and pressed a kiss to his palm.

“Good night,” he said, his voice deep enough to catch at some tightness in Javert’s stomach.

“And yourself,” Javert replied, and something in his tone caused Valjean’s eyes to darken considerably. He closed the space between and kissed Valjean with more aggression than usual. In response, Valjean’s mouth turned completely pliant, molding perfectly to whatever Javert wanted, and that excited him. When they broke apart, they were both breathing heavily. The familiar _want-need-shouldn’t-don’t-deserve_ thoughts clamored in his mind, but he defied them with another deep kiss that ended with a light tug at Valjean’s lower lip. “Jean,” he said, taking the other man’s hand in his own and unconsciously fiddling with those thick fingers. “Do you want… tonight?”

Valjean lowered his gaze with uncharacteristic shyness. Perhaps their repeated failures were leeching at his customary confidence. “If you do,” he said.

Javert felt mildly irritated—and at the same time, a little turned on—at this ambivalence. “I do. I want you, Jean.” It was oddly liberating to say those words, to allow them to substitute for other words he could not say simply because he could not yet believe in them. “Follow me.” He led Valjean into his own bedchamber, inwardly thrilled at how obediently he followed. _Finally!_ It had only taken a few decades to secure Valjean’s compliance. And, with this thought, he realized what they needed to do to break their sexual ineptitude.

“You should remove your clothes,” Javert said as he strode quickly to his desk. “And place them on this chair.” He opened a drawer, found what he was looking for. “Neatly,” he added, as an afterthought. He didn’t prize orderliness so much, but the more structure he provided for this situation, the better.

Javert turned back in time to watch Valjean unbutton his shirt. His eyes lingered appreciatively on the skin as it was bared, inch by inch. Valjean noticed his attention and faltered, his face flushing with embarrassment, of all things. They’d seen each other naked before, and shame was a state of mind that prison tended to beat out of a man. “Valjean,” he said, halfway between commanding and concerned. The older man nodded, and rushed through the remainder, shrugging out of his shirt and starting on his pants with shaking hands. Javert took pity on him and moved to still his hands. “Allow me.”

His movements were brisk and efficient, but they still induced arousal in Valjean. Javert hid his smirk by bending over and untying Valjean’s boots, which were rather impeding the undressing anyway. He ignored the man’s hardening cock, not even allowing his shoulder to brush against it. “Lean on me.” With Valjean’s hands on his shoulders, he eased first one boot and pants leg off, then the other. He was unable to resist planting a kiss on Valjean’s inner thigh and running his hands up the backs of Valjean’s legs as he stood up. Age hadn’t affected the older man’s musculature at all.

Straightening, he handed the clothes to Valjean to deposit on the chair. Before they became too absorbed in each other, he was determined that they should decide precisely what they were getting into. “Considering our history, I think it best we establish a few ground rules before proceeding.” His posture was as rigid as it would be were he on duty, in defiance of the erection tenting the front of his trousers. Valjean’s back was to him, and he was admiring. Very much he was admiring.

“Bedroom law?” Valjean asked with a slight smile as he turned around. Javert mostly managed to keep his gaze locked on Valjean’s face. He wanted to have a brief, serious discussion, though he felt he was allowed at least one glance downward. God, did he not have all the same parts? The sight of another man naked should not be so distracting.

“I have come to the conclusion—tell me whether you agree—that certain roles in our past may influence us still. I mean to say that some part of me still sees in you the convict who broke parole, and I believe that some part of you still fears the guardsman in me.” He paused, but when Valjean gave no indication of disagreeing, continued with his words tumbling haphazardly from his mouth, born from haphazard thoughts. “I believe—I think that you and I—they are ghosts, in a way. This convict and this guard. Let us lay them to rest tonight.”

“I could not have phrased it better myself,” Valjean said, advancing on him. Javert’s eyes skittered over broad shoulders, down a muscled chest, and he swallowed hard. Valjean’s hand was on his thigh, trailing upward toward his belt, and his confidence appeared to have grown with his arousal.

“Stop,” Javert said, arousal lending more a growl to his voice than usual. Valjean’s hand immediately dropped to his side. Javert closely observed his face, caught the flash of relief when Valjean received the order, and had to bite down fiercely on the inside of his cheeks to suppress a smirk. “As I said: rules. Can you follow my orders?”

“Yes,” Valjean said, dropping his eyes to Javert’s groin. Javert took a moment to congratulate himself on his control; he was doing so much better than Valjean currently.

Javert cleared his throat. “Can you restrain yourself from taking any action without my permission?”

“Yes,” Valjean said. His hands squeezed and fluttered at his side like nervous birds.

“Can you submit to any restrictions I may deem proper?”

“Yes.”

“And finally—listen carefully, Jean, this is the most important part: will you ask me to stop if you feel threatened or discomforted?”

Valjean met his gaze, his eyes widening a little in surprise. “You will not threaten me, and you do quite the opposite of discomforting.”

“I would have said the same of you, before our last failure.” He saw guilt in Valjean’s face, and was moved to kiss him again just to stop it. Anyway, the man’s mouth was far too distracting. Valjean sucked at his tongue and Javert lost his focus long enough to seize the man’s hips and grind them into his own. When he noticed what he was doing, he sprang back. He searched for his train of thought, seizing on his worry for Valjean’s comfort to keep himself grounded in the conversation. “It was nothing you did. I… I think that came from me. I don’t want the same to happen to you.”

Valjean nodded, leaning in for another kiss before catching himself with a grin, obviously remembering their rules at the last second. Javert meant to reward him by granting him that kiss, but found himself too easily lost in Valjean’s soft mouth and clever tongue. When he finally pulled away, they were both back to breathing hard, and at some point Valjean had worked one arm around Javert’s waist and one hand down the back of his pants. Javert firmly put both back in their place, and continued. He would not outlast too many more interruptions. His voice, when he spoke, was haggard with desire. “We need a sign. If you’re—overwhelmed. And I’m too… I don’t notice. Must I say please? Please, Jean. Reassure me.”

“I will,” Valjean said, softening at Javert’s worry, his instinct for comforting others briefly overriding his lust. “Shall I simply ask you to stop?”

“Choose a word, such as that which may be given to a lawman going deeply undercover,” Javert said, not really caring if Valjean didn’t fully grasp the reference. He could understand the gist of the request. “What makes you feel safe?”

Valjean smiled, and touched one finger to Javert’s lips in reply. Javert closed his eyes. This was perilously close to their first failure. “And besides you? I suppose… I’ll say ‘bishop.’ Or ‘candlestick.’”

“Well? Which is it?” Javert asked, opening his eyes again.

“Bishop.”

“You are certain?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me to stop,” Javert said.

“What?”

“Tell me to stop,” he repeated, seizing Valjean’s wrists in his hands and wrenching them behind his back, like he was about to cuff the man.

“What if—oh, all right, stop,” Valjean stammered. “No! I mean _bishop_!”

Javert released him. “Good enough. Are you ready?” He felt that they’d postponed it for quite long enough.

“Yes,” Valjean said, staring down at his wrists in fascination. Javert hadn’t meant for him to enjoy that, but it did give him some sign as to where and how he can push Valjean.

“Then get on your knees.”

Valjean didn’t seem too put off by the abrupt change from discussing to doing. He sank to his knees with a soft _oof_ , and Javert noted which knee he favored. He strode back to the desk, taking deep, calming breaths.

“Tell me,” Javert fished in his memory for the number that had been given to Valjean upon his entry into the prison at Toulon. He hasn’t used that number on Valjean since he was released, but he didn’t think either of them had forgotten it. “24601. Did you think you could evade the law forever?”

He watched Valjean carefully while he considered his answer. His head was bowed, hands sliding to his knees, shoulders falling out of their typical, proud posture. Valjean’s body language was slipping into submission as if it were a new skin. The transformation was unexpected, but breath-taking. Javert felt immensely satisfied at correctly guessing at what they both needed.

Valjean said, “I had hoped.” His voice was very low, and it was _doing things_ to Javert, things that involved light-headedness and great discomfort in his own pants. He retrieved the handcuffs from the drawer, letting them jangle together for Valjean’s benefit. He wanted Valjean to know what was coming.

“You could not run; you could not hide; not from _me_ , Jean-le-Cric.” This last he murmured directly into Valjean’s ear, earning a shudder and a soft moan. They both knew it was an empty boast, that Valjean had, in fact, managed to run and hide and it was only fate that threw them back together; but in a way, fate made that statement true. He smiled as he pulled Valjean’s arms back, slid the cuffs into place. He placed a kiss under Valjean’s ear, loved that little hitch in his breath. “I have caught you, and you are mine.”

“Yes,” Valjean agreed. “I am yours.” His voice cracked. Barely audible, he asked, “Punish me.”

“Shhh.” Javert rubbed his shoulders, realized what he was doing, and snapped back into character. His fingers squeezed instead, digging small bruises into Valjean’s skin. “I will. Believe me, I will.” Valjean leaned so eagerly into his touch, even when it was painful—especially when it was painful—that he was having difficulty focusing on anything other than the desire to have him, to feel that strong, bare body against his own. “You will—render service—unto the law—for your crimes.” He took several deep breathes, willing himself to slow down while Valjean moaned and nodded and promised his complete cooperation.

He needed to unfasten his pants, just a little, just enough to provide some relief, but if he did that then it would not be long until he was demanding Valjean’s mouth on his cock or some similar stimulation. He couldn’t rush this; it would be long, and it would be sweet, and it would be fulfilling. “You promise so much—but are you willing to follow through?” Javert stroked his mouth, hissing as Valjean’s tongue flickered against his fingers. He shoved two of these fingers inside Valjean’s mouth and let those lips lock around them. “You… you are enthusiastic with your mouth. Shall I put that in my report?” Valjean made another deep moan, and this time Javert had to struggle not to moan with him. His hips moved involuntarily in a stuttering motion, but Javert firmly controlled himself.

He pulled his fingers from Valjean’s mouth with a wet popping sound—and even that went straight to his cock—and massaged the man’s ass. Valjean’s head rolled back, and as Javert did not think he would last much longer if he could see Valjean’s face, he dug his other hand into that snowy white hair and shoved slowly but firmly until the other man’s chin met his chest. “I will… I will make you taste justice. I will make you— _god_ —feel justice.”

“Is this what justice feels like?” Still in handcuffs, Valjean’s hands brushed against his cock. Javert had to bat them away. “That’s new.”

“New justice,” Javert replied, briefly considering redoing Valjean’s handcuffs so his hands were bound in front, and deciding against it. “Is greatly to be preferred over old justice.”

His fingers found that tight ring of muscle, and only traced lightly around the rim before Valjean was pushing eagerly down. “You are so—eager for this. That is only natural.” He didn’t know what he was saying anymore.

“No,” Valjean groaned, which pulled Javert slightly out of the moment. But Valjean wasn’t using the stop word and he wasn’t resisting—quite the opposite—so it didn’t take long for him to slip back into pace. One finger pushed in as gently as possible without seeming like a break in character. Javert held Valjean’s hips with his other hand to preclude the inevitable downward thrust. Control. He had to have control. He felt like he was rising ever higher toward a distant heaven. One finger was thrust in, and out, and in again, and the noises Valjean made were crossing over from pain to pleasure. Despite his best efforts, he wasn’t able to prevent the stronger man from rolling his hips as he carefully added a second finger. Valjean gasped and groaned his name and arched his back against Javert, and Javert could feel every muscle in that back and as he bit at his neck and tasted his sweat and— _fuck, damn, and hellfire!_ This time he was unable to stop the movement of his hips against the air, and he realized belatedly that he should have paid more attention to that rising feeling. He was coming, he had arrived, he had passed that point with soiled pants and humiliation.

When Javert began to descend from whatever high place he had been flung to, he found he had rested his forehead on Valjean’s shoulder. His hair brushed against Valjean’s cheek when the other man turned his face to the side.

“You bishopped.” Valjean’s tone was a little accusatory.

“I think you’ll find I candlesticked, actually.” Javert sighed. “Do you want to—bishop?”

“I want to—” Valjean glanced down at himself, red and erect and dripping with precum, still aroused despite Javert’s loss of control. Javert felt rather strange then, tight and fluttery all at once, and covered it by sliding halfway back into character. He uncuffed Valjean and stood on shaky legs. “What were we—?”

“We were talking about justice,” Javert said.

“I deserve it,” Valjean affirmed.

“Then get on the bed,” Javert commanded gruffly, tossing the handcuffs onto the bed as well and stalking to another corner of the room. Since he was definitely stripping off the pants, he might as well lose the rest of his clothes. When he returned to the bed feeling more composed, less flushed, he found that Valjean had already managed to handcuff himself to the headboard.

“You appear to have forgotten our rules,” Javert noted calmly, fussing with the pillows beneath Valjean’s head. He wanted Valjean at the right angle to see everything that was done to him.

“Did you expect a convict to obey them all?” Valjean asked. Javert noticed that there was something more to the question than role-play, and set that thought aside to examine later.

“Then I suppose I must punish you.” Javert leaned over the supine man, running one hand over the muscles on his abdomen and chest.

“What will you do to me… sir?”

Javert squeezed his eyes shut and waited long enough to determine that, yes, mercifully, it really was too soon for him to come a second time. He wondered when Valjean had decided to start referring to him as ‘sir’ in bed. It was almost too much. “Your punishment will be corporeal in the extreme.”

“Sir?”

“You will be made to understand the limits of your flesh,” Javert said, noting mechanically that he had reverted back to that state where he had no idea what his own words meant. He’d initiated this encounter with some vague idea of using his cane at some point, but now he didn’t think either of them would be able to last through a thing like _that_. While he spoke, he moved to straddle Valjean’s calves, hands roaming down his legs and over his stomach and up his sides, but never quite touching the one area that most begged for attention.

“S-sir?”

“Stop that,” Javert growled, lunging forward to capture Valjean’s mouth in another kiss, this one including teeth. He kissed Valjean and worshipped that mouth and swore to himself that he’d see that same, glorious mouth applied elsewhere. Someday. For now, he kissed his way down Valjean’s body, rewarding his willingness and his patience (and his forgiveness and his grace) by finally focusing on his cock. He had some idea of what could be done here, but no clue what Valjean would want. He began with kissing his way up and down that length and lapping at the head, listening carefully for Valjean’s approval. He heard a mumbled, unintelligible phrase and decided to interpret it as good. He then purses his lips around the head and sucked lightly. The sounds that Valjean made in response sent pleasurable shivers down Javert’s spine. He tried to take more, sucking in earnest, giving no protest when Valjean’s hips jumped once or twice. He met Valjean’s eyes without ever taking his mouth off the other man’s cock; he imagined how it must feel, to be touched so, and unable to touch in return. Valjean’s eyes were wide, but he looked well-pleased, though Javert still felt like he could detect something else quivering just under the surface—

“Bishop,” Valjean gasped. “Bishop.”

Javert froze. For one shameful moment, he thought it possible that Valjean was merely warning him of his imminent release. The next, he was pulling off and diving for the keys to the cuffs, cursing in his own mind; they’ve completely ruined this stop word, he’d have to establish a new one and make sure that Valjean knew it meant only one kind of stopping. He released Valjean as quickly as he could and then wrapped his lover in his arms. He remembered their last attempt, and how miserable he’d been and how confused, and how much he wanted Valjean’s comfort and how little he was willing to accept it when offered.

“Jean,” Javert said, feeling deeply inadequate. What could he say? Perhaps they weren’t meant to take this step. He slowly grew aware that this was the most physical contact he’d ever initiated in their relationship. On some level, Valjean must have also been aware of this, for he responded quite well to Javert’s touch. He pressed his face into Javert’s neck and released a few shuddery breaths. After some minutes had passed, he shifted against Javert, tapping the inspector’s sternum with a shaking hand.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled. “I’m fine, please continue.”

“Jean,” Javert repeated.

“Please.” Valjean trembled against him, and he was amazed, still, at how vulnerable this ex-convict—no, this man could be.

“You said bishop. That was our agreed-upon stop word.” He kissed Valjean’s brow, trying to convey too much with one gesture. Perhaps he meant, _Trust me._ Or, _Let me help you._ Everything. _I feel for you with a ferocity that exceeds my passion for the law. You have taught me a better kind of justice. I’m sorry._

“Continue. You won’t break me, Javert,” Valjean said with a fragile smile. “It is only that I… I am fighting the inclination to believe that the most wrong we have ever done each other occurs here.” As if to ensure that his words could not be misinterpreted, Valjean kissed him chastely. Javert was startled. He’d been so convinced that Valjean’s main objection to their relationship was connected to their past—but no, of course not, the man was too ready to forgive and so willing to find, if not lovable, then at least likeable characteristics in Javert. To suddenly realize that the problem was actually their shared sex was… He should have known. He also should not feel so relieved, yet he could not quite eradicate that feeling.

If the physical relations were holding Valjean back, there was really only one remedy. “This is not truly a punishment,” Javert said firmly, reaching down and taking Valjean in hand. “Nor is it a sin.” He began to stroke the other man firmly until Valjean was gasping and shuddering in the _good_ way, and then he leaned down and kissed his throat. It did not take Valjean long to hit his climax, and as he came he clung tightly to Javert and refused to let go.

Javert was quiet for a long moment, allowing Valjean the chance to recover. “Did that feel like a punishment? I mean, did it hurt?”

He felt rather than saw Valjean’s smile against his skin. “No.”

“Did it feel like a sin? What I mean to say is—” and, damnably, Javert cannot quite keep the worry from his voice. “Did it feel wrong?”

“No, Javert,” Valjean said. “I feel very right with you. But… forgive me… I do not think I can easily let go of the notion that it _should_ feel wrong.”

Javert looked at him seriously. His mind existed in a confused state between relieved and anxious. He frowned at Valjean’s furrowed brow and tried to smooth it out with a soothing hand. When that didn’t work, he asked, “Do you think repetition will help?”

Valjean’s smile, despite everything, was too perfect; Javert had to claim that mouth again before he found himself saying the sort of things he tried not to believe in.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the term is "safe word." I don't think they'd know quite what to call it, though.


End file.
